Such A Pretty Girl
by kbickel
Summary: Pervert. Scum. Dirt. Freak. Monster. Demon, demon, demon. God, help me. I can’t stop it. I feel so helpless, small in this four-sided box. He’s surrounding me with his whispered confessions of love and salty, sweaty skin. It’s so wrong, but I can't escape


"_Say please," my father whispers, the golden baseball on his necklace draws ice cold paths across my bare chest. It feels strange; everything else is so hot and sticky._

"_Please," I whimper, feeling smaller and smaller the farther his hands go._

"_Please what?"_

_I'm supposed to say 'please stop' but I know that will only make him more eager, making animal noises and grabbing the sheets around my head. He's so close. Too close, and I can't wriggle free. I want to cry, cry so hard my brains spill out onto the bed. But I can't, because that's what he wants. He feeds off misery, and I have so much._

"_Please stop." I plead and plead, but it doesn't work. He makes me grab him, and I watch the change in his face. From pervert to monster. Monster to my own personal demon. Demon to nothing, nothing at all, because I close my eyes and paint a pretty picture behind my lids and hope to God I can somehow get there._

_My thighs are ripped apart; he's so damn strong, and I cry out, unable to help myself. "Mommy!" I scream it, leaving my throat vibrating. A sweaty, salty hand is jammed over my mouth. The claws of the monster are digging into my cheek. Please leave bruises, I think. Please leave proof of this. So my skin can tell the story that I can't._

"_Come on, Chirp, don't ruin this. It's special," he says it so low, gruff and animal-like in my ear. I can hear myself sobbing until he shoves himself inside me, and then a blood-curdling scream escapes me, and it's barely muffled by his goliath hand. It scares even me; the sound of so much sick desperation and devastation, and I find myself shaking from the way it made me feel. I can't breath, I've been gutted and I'm drowning. I'm caught under the current and I swim so hard my arms and legs go limp as they go numb. He creates vicious waves, moving against me, huffing and puffing and it's taking everything I have not to throw up._

_I hate him. I hate him so much. His hand slips from my mouth because he's caught up in the waves, getting too close to his sick ecstasy. Pervert. Scum. Dirt. Freak. Monster. Demon, demon, demon. God, help me. I can't stop it. I feel so helpless, small in this four-sided box. He's surrounding me with his whispered confessions of love and salty, sweaty skin. It's so wrong, it's so wrong, I know it's wrong, but I can't escape. God, I hate him. Die. Please die. I want to tell him. He arrives, moaning and jerking in spasms and I'm filled with his hideous crime. He puts his full weight on me, exhausted and pleasantly content. It makes me so angry. I feel dirty._

"_I hate you," I can barely hear myself, so I know he couldn't._

"_What's that, Chirp?" he asks, tilting his head back and sweeping the hair from my face. The baseball swings like The Pendulum in my face. He turns his ear toward me so I can whisper in his ear, like a lover._

_So I lean forward, slowly, and ignore the instinct to shrivel away from him. My mouth is at his ear and he likes it. "I _hate_ you," I breathe. Each word is throaty and distinct. I hope they dig into him like daggers and kill him like he's killed me._

_He jerks backward and looks at me like he's finally seen what he's done, but it's soon replaced by anger and I brace myself for a swing. "How dare-"_

"_Charles?" My mother. Both our eyes get wide, for different reasons. My father scrambles to his feet like a panicky teenager about to get caught fooling around. I turn away from his nakedness; seeing it is almost as bad as feeling it. I hear his pants being zipped and his head popping through his t-shirt. "Charles, honey, where are you?"_

_My father presses the covers around me and sits down against my naked back, hidden by the sweaty comforter. He puts his hand to my shoulder and I flinch. "In here," he calls as he scrapes his claws through my hair. What is he doing?_

"_Oh," my mother seems surprised. I picture her in the threshold, holding onto each side of the frame, leaning in with her youthful dress and flaky make-up. Oh, how I wish I could be in her arms instead of the monster's. "What's going on?"_

_Just pull back the covers, I beg. I'm naked, can't you see? He's a monster! "Oh, Meredith wasn't feeling very well so I was just keeping her company." His act is so good my mother has no doubt. I can hear a smile in his voice. He pats my head once, and then twice. I wish everything my mother saw was real, and everything she didn't was just a disgusting, horrible nightmare._

"_Oh well, come into the kitchen when you can. I'd like to hear about your day." Would you like to hear about my day, Mommy? She leaves, and I'm left alone with him again._

"_I'm sorry we couldn't spend more time together," he says in a pleading voice. He's so deluded. "But I promise," he begins to trail the back of his hand down my neck, "I'll come see you tonight." I shiver violently at his words, and at the hand that's making its way down my chest. No, no, don't. He cups my breast and exhales in a gasp. "Oh God," he whispers, and crumples at his desire._

"_So what's for dinner?" my mother calls to herself cheerfully, opening up the refrigerator. He straightens, clears his throat, and leaves me to rot._

_I hate him._

_

* * *

_This is from the book "Such a Pretty Girl" which I read the other day, and was like, dumfounded. It was so devastating, and sad, and funny, and empowering, and I couldn't put it down. It was very haunting, and it made me want to write a short continuation of one of Meredith's many flashbacks. I personally have never been through something as horrifying as this, which I feel incredibly blessed for, but I know a lot of girls can relate to Meredith's story. So go read this book! It's by Laura Wiess. Enjoy.


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